


Cold on the Floor

by pondsandbeyond



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x06, 8x6, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Post-Canon Fix-It, Series Finale, Set during 8x06, Spoilers, Spoilers 8x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:43:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pondsandbeyond/pseuds/pondsandbeyond
Summary: Jon sees that "Duty is the death of love" takes on more meaning to Tyrion than he would have guessed.A sort of fix-it fic that picks up mid-conversation between Jon and Tyrion in 8x06. Sort of compliant with canon but then diverges.





	Cold on the Floor

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever. Also my first creative writing piece since high school so I'm sorry if this is not good? Please please be kind. 
> 
> Every line of Tyrion's I was just hoping for some Sanrion subtext so that's where this is sprouted from.

“She believes her destiny is to build a better world for everyone. If you believed that… if you truly believed it, wouldn’t you kill whoever stood between you and paradise?” 

Jon Snow takes a deep breath, and sits on a rickety chair with his elbows on his knees, as if his back bears the physical weight of Tyrion’s words. His mind is racing but his body is still. All Jon can do is stare at the floor, the specks on the concrete dappling his vision. He senses Tyrion stepping towards him, but doesn’t move or look up. 

“I know you love her.”

Like a punch to the gut, the edges of Jon’s vision start to blur. His senses dull as Tyrion continues. 

“I love her too. Not as successfully as you” he strains. “But I believed in her with all my heart. Love is more powerful than reason. We all know that.” 

Tyrion’s statement echoes a sentiment he once heard, pulling Jon out of his reverie. He raises his head slightly to see the smaller man has turned his back to him, visibly affected by where the conversation has gone. “Love is the death of duty,” Jon recalls. 

“You just came up with that?” 

“Maester Aemon said it a long time ago.” 

“Sometimes…” Tyrion sucks in a breath. “Duty is the death of love.” 

Tyrion’s voice falters on the last word, enough to make Jon look up to see his eyes shiny, tears threatening to spill over. It takes Jon a second to realize that his words have implications beyond Jon’s relationship with Dany. 

“Are you in love with her?” Jon asks cautiously, brows slightly furrowing. It didn’t quite make sense, given that Tyrion never acted in that way and was now asking Jon to kill her, but Tyrion’s reaction seems too strong for it not to be personal. 

“No,” Tyrion says with a slight shake of his head and a sad smile curling upon his lips. “There wouldn’t any competition between us if I was, Jon Snow. But my duty to the Queen has put an unfortunate end to any love Sansa and I would have had.” 

Jon’s eyes widen. “Sansa? But your marriage…” 

“Our marriage in King’s Landing was indeed a sham. But my respect for your sister never was. From the start, she navigated my nephew’s torment with resilience and grace. I admired her for that. When we were married, I didn’t love her but I did try my best to protect her from my family and further heartbreak.” 

Jon nods, taking in the information. “You were a good man to her. She said so herself.” 

Tyrion smiles, closing his eyes for a moment and bowing his head slightly. “We were united in helping each other survive my family more than we were even united in matrimony. We trusted each other.” 

“When did things change for you?” 

“It was a slow realization.” Each sentence is constructed carefully and punctured with pauses. “For a long time after she escaped King’s Landing, I still thought of myself as married to her. My mind became preoccupied with Dany’s business as her Hand, but whenever I found myself thinking of the kind of love I wanted, it always circled back to someone who I could trust like Sansa. When I heard of her marriage to Ramsey, I drank more in the following days than I had the previous weeks. I couldn’t admit it to myself then, but I was heartbroken. When Varys told me how Ramsey was treating Sansa, I thought about flying off with Viserion and burning him in an instant.” 

Tyrion takes in a shaky breath before continuing. 

“But then we got word that Winterfell had been taken back from the Boltons. I invited you to Dragonstone, hoping that she would accompany you as well. Seeing as that didn’t happen, the best I could do was ask you how she was. You know the rest. When we went North, I was most terrified of her reunion with me.” 

“She didn’t provide you with the warmest welcome.” Jon jokes lightly, looking up and prompting him further. Jon had been there for this part of the story, but he wondered what else he had missed while he was off riding Rhaegal. 

“No, she didn’t. I think I would have been received differently if I didn’t come as Hand of the Queen, or if I hadn’t publicly believed that Cersei would assist us.” 

Jon cocks his head to the side, a little smirk on his lips. “Not the best impression.” 

“And yet she made quite an impression on me. She was always a pretty girl, but my heart couldn’t stop pounding when I saw her as the beautiful woman she’d become. She no longer hid her cunning intelligence under a mask, and she fiercely protected her people. My heart didn’t stand a chance.” Tyrion’s voice softens considerably as he opens his heart to Jon. “The Sansa standing before me was more than any version I knew or could have imagined. I fell more in love with her each time she spoke.” 

At this admission, Tyrion glances up at Jon. Tyrion paces around the makeshift holding cell once before settling back on the floor beneath the window, where he was when Jon had entered. He wishes desperately for some wine. Something to calm his beating heart and make the world a bit hazy again, so he didn’t feel it all so much. 

“Has my sister reciprocated your feelings?” 

Tyrion sighs. “It’s questionable.” 

Jon raises his eyebrows in response.

“We were together in the crypts during the Battle of Winterfell. I was peeved that Dany had relegated me there, and expressed as much. Sansa didn’t placate me, only told me I’d die. She said the most heroic thing we could do now is to look the truth in the face. And my truth, which my wine-induced mind slipped out of my mouth, was that I thought we should have stayed married. To which she replied that it wouldn’t work between us because my divided loyalties would become a problem.” His voice cracks. He stretches his legs in front of him, body bent over, and his head hung low. “Her reason was not that I was a dwarf or a Lannister. Not that she didn’t love me, but because my allegiance was split” 

“I see.”

“Perhaps it’s just in my mind but I see her soften her hard edges around me, that she still trusts me like before. There are times, like fighting in the crypts, where she allows me to protect her. When we are a pair.“ 

The tears that had abated during the telling of his story reappear. Silence settles in. Jon leans back in his chair and closes his eyes in contemplation. Light streams in from the window above Tyrion’s folded form. 

“Sansa told me the truth about you because she trusts me, because she doesn’t want Dany to be queen.” He means it to come out forcefully, convincingly, but his voice betrays him and it only comes out dejectedly instead. 

“She doesn’t get to choose.” Jon rebuffs. 

“No. But you do. And you have to choose now.” 

“Between your love and mine?” 

“Between what’s good for the realm and what’s not.” 

Jon gets up from his chair brusquely and knocks three times. Before Tyrion has the chance to protest, a guard opens the door leaving both men with their thoughts. 

_______ 

 

Tyrion can’t tell how many days have gone by since his talk with Jon. He counted the sun shining and the darkness creeping in at least three times, but he thinks he might be hallucinating a bit. Dany wouldn’t have let him live so long, but if Jon had killed her he wouldn’t still be in this cell. Time doesn’t make sense to him, and the guards who deliver his food and replace his chamber pot don’t tell him anything. 

He’s curled up on his makeshift bed of crumpled linens facing the wall when he hears the door open. He’s been laying in contemplation since he’s woken up and he’s positive his visitor is just an Unsullied guard taking away his untouched breakfast tray.

The door closes shut. The footsteps remain close to the door, not entering further and certainly not moving towards the table. 

“’ My lady’ is the standard response.” A cool female voice breaks the silence. 

Tyrion flips over quickly in shock. 

Standing before him is Sansa, bright blue eyes looking into his. She stands tall in her long black dress and armored bodice, her necklace glinting off the little sunlight that his cell allows in. Her auburn hair is tied up in an intricate braid, framing her face. A face that he did not think he would ever be blessed enough to see again. Her lips turn up at the edges, allowing herself pleasure in her own greeting. 

He doesn’t know if this is a mirage or a dream or she’s really here. He stands up quickly and brushes his tunic, eyes wide. Slowly he moves towards her, absentmindedly stroking his overgrown beard while debating reality. 

“Sansa” disbelief coloring his words. 

“Yes, Tyrion?” She’s enjoying his surprise too much. 

He continues to step towards her until she extends her hand, just within his reach. He takes it cautiously, maintaining eye contact and pressing it gently to his lips. 

“You’re really here?” 

“I am.” He’s held her hand past politeness, and somewhat awkwardly motions to let go, but she readjusts and strengthens their clasp in response. 

“I…” He falters. Unsure of what to say or how to start or what has happened or anything. But she cuts him off before he has a chance to form a coherent thought.

“Let’s get you freshened up and then we can talk” 

Tyrion nods and follows her lead out of his cell hand in hand. 

_______ 

Sansa escorts them both from the prison to a small building in King’s Landing. They enter a long hall with several closed doors on either side. Tyrion looks at her soft plait trailing down her spine as she leads the way to the door at the end. It creaks open and inside is a makeshift bed and a few belongings that he recognizes as hers. Furs, a book, several combs are scattered on a small table and chair. 

She’s brought him to her chambers. He is still not unsure if this is a dream. 

“With the city in ruins, this was the safest housing for the lords and ladies. Ser Davos was afraid the Red Keep’s architecture would be too unstable to accommodate anyone for any period of time. And unfortunately, a chamber for you went unaccounted for until now. Someone should find you one by nightfall. My apologies, I think the most private place for us to talk would be here.” Sansa says, her tone very matter-of-fact. 

“This is a perfectly suited place to talk.” His hopes of further implications dashed. 

“Amenities are scarce for now, but Lord Robin said someone has drawn you a bath in his chamber down the hall and Ser Davos has found you spare clothes from your old chamber in the Red Keep that will be waiting for you there.” 

“Thank you, my lady. I will not be long.” 

He moved begrudgingly out of the room, unwilling to leave her but equally averse to being in her company while so disheveled, and smelling so particularly sour. 

_______ 

He tries to savor the bath, ridding himself of the dirt under his nails and the grime that has caked into hair, but his mind is racing about what has happened since his conversation with Jon. He hadn’t seen another soul on their walk from the prison to these quarters, and Sansa did not give anything away about the current state of the world. 

He goes through the motions as quickly as he can, but his fingers still prune by the time he has done a thorough enough job to feel clean. He dons his clothing and strides back down the hall. 

He stops at the door and takes a deep breath and knocks. Sansa is quick to reply, ushering him back inside. He looks around for a place to sit, but the chair is laden with items and there is no other furniture than the accompanying table and bed. 

He moves to sit against the wall when Sansa chastises. “Don’t be silly, Tyrion.” She motions to the spot next to her on the bed, and crosses the room to take up his suggested residence. 

Ever so slightly, and only because space has shortened between them, does he see that she is chewing her bottom lip and her thumb is running over stitching on her dress. Her tiny movements that betray her cool exterior only make him more nervous about what information she is going to share. Her eyes fall down towards the floor, but he keeps his eyes trained on her face. 

“Sansa, look at me.” His words puncture the growing silence between them. 

The tension in her face falls when blue meets blue. She takes a deep breath and begins. 

“Brienne and I left for Winterfell shortly after Jon did. Being a three-week ride away would not have allowed me to properly advocate for the North. By the time we reached King’s Landing, the dust had been settled on the city for only a few days. Fearing that the damage had been gratuitous or unwarranted, we stayed out of sight. Bran must have let Jon know where we were because he visited us in hiding, and informed us of what the Queen had done.” 

Sansa takes a deep breath before continuing. 

“Jon informed me that you were taken prisoner for setting Jaime free and that he had talked to you.” 

Tyrion’s eyes widen. He had confessed to Jon things that he wasn’t sure he wanted Sansa to know from anyone but himself. But Sansa carries on without any mention of it. 

“Jon gave your words a lot of thought, had a dagger in hand when he found the Dragon Queen in Great Hall in front of the Iron Throne, Drogon by her side. He watched her as she crumpled to the ground and started weeping in front of it. He rushed over to her and she began to sob about how she had lost sight of herself. That she had killed innocents, that she was no better than the men who had sat on the throne before her. She sobbed about how the loss of Jorah, and Rhaegal and Missandei had driven her to a part of herself that she didn’t want to ever act on again.” 

Tyrion furrows his brow. He had not anticipated that if she had acted out in madness, that she would ever repent. 

“Jon still had the dagger in his hand, unsure if she was simply acting, but then the Queen turned to Drogon, said ‘Dracarys’ and he burned the Iron Throne.” 

Tyrion purses his lips and lets out a long breath, one he didn’t realize he was holding. The Iron Throne is no more. 

“Daenerys saw the dagger in Jon’s hand. She nodded and understood that she had acted in a way to warrant that possibility. She said that she could not be loved in Westeros, and if she was going to rule she was going to do so in a place she would be loved. She climbed onto Drogon’s back and flew away. The Unsullied and Dothraki have started to make plans to return to Essos, under the assumption that that is where she has gone” 

“She left?” 

“Yes.” 

“She did not say goodbye to me.” His shoulders slumped. With all of the information that he had absorbed in such a short period of time, it was this realization that hurt the most. 

“I am sorry, Tyrion. If it is any consolation, she did not say goodbye to anyone.” 

For the first time since they began talking, he looks away from Sansa. It is a lot to process. He could not have predicted the gracious way Dany took her leave of Westeros, though he is grateful that she is the person that he always believed in, that no more life was lost, and that she will rule where she is beloved as she should be. The thought that he suggested Jon kill her instantly fills him with shame. He could not have known of her regret though. He thought she was on a dangerous path that she would not pull herself out of. Her strength, in dragon power and within herself, continues to surprise him. 

Sansa breaks Tyrion out of his pensive state. “The Dragon Queen left this only morning, so there is no answer as to who will rule now.” 

Instantaneously, Tyrion’s eyes snap back up to meet Sansa’s. “It should be you, my lady.” 

A smile forms at her lips, and crinkles form at her eyes. “From the whispers I’ve heard, there is much favor towards one small council comprising of lords and ladies from all seven Kingdoms instead of one ruler of them all. I only want to protect the North, and Jon has expressed he’d like to go back to the Wildings.” 

“So… Queen of the North has a nice ring to it.” 

“So does Hand of the Queen.” She reaches over and takes Tyrion’s hand in her own. He looks down at their nestled hands then back up at her. 

“Jon gave a thorough recollection of the last conversation he had with you.” A smile plays on her lips, coy and omniscient. 

Tyrion’s face turns pink and drops his head, unable to meet her gaze. “My lady...” He starts. 

“I trust that you’ll be good for the North,” and he recovers from his embarrassment enough to look up at her again. “And that you’ll be good for me.” she finishes. 

She smiles fully at him, a real smile that he hasn’t seen in a long time since their walks in the garden of King’s Landing. It’s such a short distance to lean and bring his lips to her own but he settles to take things slow and brings her hand up to his mouth instead. He takes in the moment, watches her blue eyes swim with delight.

“I’ll always be good to you, Sansa. I promise to never hurt you.” He emphasizes. He means it more than he can convey. 

“I trust that you will. And I promise to be good to you. Which begs the question… will you be happy in Winterfell? It’s much colder than King’s Landing or Casterly Rock.” 

“I will be happiest with you by my side. And probably warmest there too.” 

It’s Sansa who closes the gap and presses her lips to his. His eyebrows rise at her boldness, and he smiles as she deepens the kiss. He’s the one who finally pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. 

“We could get married again, you know. Maybe under the Godswood.” 

Sansa pulls back and chuckles at him. He straightens his shoulders in indignation, slightly offended at her laughter. “What?” he questions. “Was I reading this all wrong?” 

“No, no, Tyrion. It’s just that we’re still married. Samwell Tarly insists that we never got an annulment that any maester would honor.” 

Tyrion’s eyes open as wide as they can. He swallows hard and cups Sansa’s cheek, sealing their lips with more excitement than Sansa would have anticipated. He softens after a moment, marveling at her face still cupped in his hands. “We can take this slow. I care for you deeply. I don’t want to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with.” 

Sansa closes her eyes for a moment, a soft smile still on her lips. “Thank you.” She opens her mouth to say more, but she can’t seem to find the words and settles on repeating her gratitude. 

He nods leans in for a chaste kiss. 

“How long until we leave King’s Landing?” he asks. 

“We leave at dawn. The proposed council of lords and ladies, of their chosen Hands, advisors, and maesters will meet tonight, and then we’ll be on our way to Winterfell tomorrow.” 

“To our home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please be kind. Thanks.


End file.
